I go back to ask more information, trying to get to the bottom of this.
Owen opens his mouth.
The window breathes. The candle flame flutters as if someone sighed against it. In the half second of silence that follows, the old glass explodes. Along with the back of Owen’s head.
The chair rocks. The chain holds. Blood crawls down his cheek and patters on the floor in a stupid, steady way that offends me.
“Down,” Maxim barks, and he is already moving, already grabbing Brenna and dragging her sideways behind the waist-high file cabinet that survived the fire. I lunge for her too, cover her with my body, and grab the back of the chair with my free hand to yank it out of the line of the window. My grip slips in the blood and I curse and shove.
A second shot cracks and takes a bite out of the old mirror by the desk. Glass rains over my shoulder. Brenna does not scream. She is breathing fast and careful, and I can feel her heartbeat through my shirt.
“Angle is from the south yard,” Maxim says. “Low roof or the hedge line.”
“Thermal,” I snap.
He has the small monocular out before I finish the word. He peeks around the cabinet, quick and mean, then jerks back while a third shot slaps the edge of the window frame and throws splinters like teeth.
“Movement behind the tree line,” he says. “Single. He is falling back. He will be gone in ten if he knows the grounds.”
I curse myself for not leaving the dogs out. I was worried they’d jump the gun and try to take out the assassin before I could get a chance to capture him.
“We won’t catch them.” Maxim shakes his head.
I edge us deeper into the wall shadow and take stock. Owen is dead. The source is cut. The names he offered are enough to start a war and not enough to end one. The fact that a rifle just spoke to me inside my own house is an insult I plan to answer with interest.
Let them add up their math. Let them call it balance. I will show them gravity.
EPILOGUE
CORMAC
It’s beentwo weeks since the attempt on my life.
So far there has been no follow up attempt. That same weekend I went to check on the supposed shipment I was not supposed to find. I had my father on video conference. Before I even finished going through the crates, my father was already on a private flight on his way to the states.
It seems like the ones who work under him need a little reminder of who the fuck he is.
This time when he gets here I don’t hide away in the mansion but I’m right by his side as we start to reestablish our hold on the underworld.
They were right about one thing. Our empire is getting bigger. The ones trying to go against us should be scared.
Tonight, we’re attending a dinner that I’ve ignored invitations to for years. The O’Sullivan brothers under one roof again, it almost feels impossible.
Declan’s fresh out of prison, looking harder than he ever did before, his smile thin and his eyes sharper. Killian’s already there when we arrive, two women hanging off his arms, both of them dressed in glittering red like ornaments on a tree.
He catches sight of Brenna first. “Look who finally decided to crawl out of his crypt,” Killian calls, flashing me a grin before giving Brenna a more respectful nod. “And the reason he’s actually here. Good to see you again, sister.”
Brenna squeezes my hand and smiles politely, always the perfect balance between warmth and steel. She looks breathtaking tonight in a black satin dress that hugs her curves, the soft waves of her hair gleaming under the chandelier light. The bright pink engagement ring shining for everyone to see. For a moment, even among monsters, she looks like something holy.
Declan raises his glass when I sit down beside him. “Didn’t think I’d see you here, brother. The prodigal son emerges.”
“Not just emerging,” I say. “I’m coming to claim what’s mine.”
There’s a quiet that follows, one that rolls through the long oak table where heads of other families sit, men who have spent years pretending to be allies while plotting in shadows. I can feel the weight of their gazes, the calculation. They think they know me. They don’t.
Dinner is a blur of forced smiles and fake toasts. Declan’s voice is low beside me. “You sure about this?”
I nod. “More sure than I’ve ever been.”
